


that which is precious

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Ace!Charles Emerson Winchester III, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gender Affirmation, Gender Affirming Smut, Married Couple, OTP: Blueberry Pancakes, Pegging, Sex-Favourable Ace!Charles, Strap-Ons, Trans Character, gender euphoria, this is not heterosexual and neither am i, trans!Charles Emerson Winchester III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 10:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: "What do you think it'll feel like?"She smiles. "It'll feel like me and you."





	that which is precious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daylight_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylight_angel/gifts), [blue_raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_raven/gifts).

> This is based in Day's trans!Charles universe, which they were kind enough to lend me (as well as the idea for this particular piece).  
♥ send all tribute and admiration their way!  
(thanks to Blue for the beta work, you're a precious gem ♥)

"Charles!" she calls, her voice soft, his name music on her lips. "Come to bed, won't you?"

"Yes," he says, his voice equally soft, but loud enough to carry. "I'll be along shortly."

He opens the door to the bathroom, wrapping his robe tightly around himself, and stops.

He likes to think he's always had an eye for the finer things, but his wife (God, it never won't amaze him that she said yes) is more beautiful than any riches he's encountered.

Her skin glows rich and golden in the candle light, her lips ruby red, and her eyes topaz in the candlelight.

"A good woman is prized among rubies," he quotes as he walks over.

"And what of a good man?" she asks, sitting up, gauzy nightgown displaced.

"You tell me." He kisses her as he sits down beside her on the edge of the bed.

She smiles, and gives the knot of his robe a gentle tug. "Will this be coming off, or would you prefer it to stay on?"

"I do believe proceedings would be considerably more difficult were my clothes kept on," he says dryly.

"Right. Then-"

His hand covers hers, and he clears his throat. "Allow me."

She nods, and withdraws her hand, leaning back to rest her palms against the duvet.

"Chuck, are you sure?" she asks.

He nearly smiles, despite the shakiness of his hands as he unties the knot. "Only if you are."

"Because there's nothing-" She blushes a rosy pink. "There's nothing you need do that would change the way I love you."

"And if I wanted to... to pleasure you a certain way," he starts, hesitantly. "Would that be permissible?"

He's sure he's as red as she is but she smiles. "Chuck, if you're asking to take me to bed, I can hardly object."

"You can object."

"Alright," she says, swinging her feet up on the bed. "But I don't want to."

"What do you want?"

"As ever, Chuck, you."

"Then I think," he says, his mouth dry, "I shall dispose of this."

And he pulls the edges of the robe apart, meeting her eyes as he allows it to drop.

Her eyes drop too, but her expression doesn't change at first, until he sees the flickering of hunger in her gaze. "Chuck..."

"I do hope it isn't too- er- much?"

"No, it's..." she reaches out, but hesitates. "May I touch you?"

"You want to touch-" he swallows. "Me?"

"You," she says simply, and not trusting words around the lump in his throat, he nods.

He watches as she reaches out, caressing him, and he sighs a little, urging up into her touch."You're beautiful," she says, stroking down the length of him and across his hips, brushing over the harness straps, that hungry look still on her face. “All of you.”

"I want to- I want-" What he wants is to savour the naked want on her face, wants to savour the phantom feeling of her touching him that sends shivers down his spine, that leads only to a dull pressure between his legs, and he thrusts upward into her touch, wanting.

"Tell me, Chuck, what do you need?" she asks.

"I... need you," he tells her, covering her hand with his, wrapped around his length, feeling her fingers warming him. "Please."

"Alright." Her mouth sets in a determined line, as she lets go of him and pulls her nightgown over her head, baring her to him. And then she smiles.

Her smile nearly makes Charles cry, because it is raw and tender, a thrust of her chin and a sparkle in her eye, and if it were him, he'd cross his arms over his chest, but she sits before him unapologetic. The only smudge on her glowing skin is the dark curls between her own legs.

"You're so lovely," he whispers.

"A fitting wife for such a man," she says quietly in return. "And you can touch me, if you'd like."

"If I'd _like_?" he croaks, disbelieving. "My God, Donna!"

"That is... if I can touch you too."

"If you'd like." He reaches out, trying for confidence and feeling only a needy ache as his fingers brush over the gentle skin on the inside of her thigh, fine hairs rising under his fingers.

She mirrors the gesture, stroking her fingers up the inside of his thigh, his breath catching in his throat as she circles higher with her thumb, brushing against the base of him.

"You're really something," she tells him. "I look at you and I picture..." she turns pink. "The most sinfully decadent things that you could do to me, and they're still not enough."

"I want to be enough," he says, and it's always been a fear, but never one he's quite said like this.

"Well darling," she says, and quickly strokes up from the base to rub her thumb over his tip, smeared with dampness that he knows is his, "I hate to break it to you, but this will definitely _ feel _like enough."

He grins when he understands the joke. "Oh."

"You can imagine what it does to me," she says, "seeing you so hard and wanting and all mine."

He swallows hard. "I don't have to imagine."

"No?"

"No," he says, and in a moment of pure foolish bravery, he pushes his hand up between her thighs, his knuckles brushing against the wet heat and she gasps, her head falling back. "No, I don't have to imagine it."

"Oh Chuck, _ Chuck _ , please," she says, urging him on. "Oh God, where did you learn _ that _?"

It fills him with something strong and heady like a fine brandy to know that he can please her, that he can have her pushing down insistently against his touch. His knuckles brush over her again, once, twice, before he finally takes pity on her and changes the position of his hand, which only serves to make her squeak indignantly.

"I want- Chuck, please-"

He circles his thumb in tight, feels her writhe and gasp, and tense. She is still mirroring his motions, even in the mindlessness of her own pleasure, circling her thumb over his tip. It’s enough to flood him with a sudden and fiery heat and he can’t suppress a moan.

He reaches blindly, his thumb still circling, and she is hot and slick against his searching fingers. "Tell me what you want."

"I want- I want you, Chuck, oh god, please."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want to-" If it's possible to blush a deeper shade, she does, "I want you inside me, Charles. I need it."

"Are you sure?"

"Need to feel you," she begs, "all of you, please, please, please."

"Of course. I should-"

She spreads her legs with a whimper, a hand wrapped firmly around him and stroking him, putting just enough pressure into her strokes that he can feel it, powerful and dizzying, and she touches him without hesitation.

He slides a finger inside her, relishing in the way she moved around him, responding to his touch, whimpering his name in blind pleasure. He adds a second, his thumb still making broad circles that make her shiver and buck into his hand.

When he curls his fingers into her, she jolts against him with a gasp as he circles in so tight, and he feels her, oh God, he feels her going taut against him-

Until her hand reaches down and covers his, stilling his movements.

"Charles," she says, her eyes dark with arousal in the candlelight, and his name sweet on her lips. "I want you. Now."

"Now?"

She nods. "I want you inside me, and I want you to feel me like I feel you."

"Al-Alright," he stutters, a deep and passionate aching taking root in him as he withdraws his hand, and he watches her body quiver in the dim lighting from the unsated arousal, his own body never softening, and he is ready for this, is ready to feel the heat of her, clenching around him, joined with him.

They shuffle themselves into a proper position, and he manages to lean down and kiss her. "Are you ready?"

She smiles. "Just- go slow, alright?"

He nods, unsure of what else to say. "What do you think it'll feel like?"

She smiles. "It'll feel like me and you."

It makes him breathless and dizzy that she can look at his body, that she can look at _ this _, and all she sees is him, and all she wants is him, only him.

Guiding himself with one hand, he oh so gently pushes into her, rolling his hips against her, and she whimpers, a delicious little breath of a moan slipping out. "Oh."

He keeps moving, as slowly as he can manage, despite the arousal racing through his nerves and crackling at the base of his spine telling him to push, to thrust, to _ own _.

To join.

When he's all the way inside her, the wet heat radiating against his own skin, the sensation overwhelming, he exhales shakily and leans in, pressing his forehead to hers. "Is this okay?"

Her eyes flash. "Don't stop."

So he pulls back and then thrusts again, tentatively, and kisses her as he does, kisses her face, and her neck, and the delicate spot at the corner of her jaw that makes her melt, as they settle into a slow rhythm.

She is hot and wet and wanting, and the arousal is enough to make him breathless.

"Charles, Charles, please, please, faster," she pants, and her heels dig into the soft flesh of his backside, urging him deeper, and he groans, his hand sliding down to where they're joined, and he wants, wants so _ damn _fiercely to make her cry his name, to mark this joining in her memory and in her flesh, and he touches her and she gasps, and arches against him, as he rocks into her.

"Oh Charles, Charles, oh God-"

"Donna, tell me: what does it feel like?"

"It's you, it's you," she whines. "It's you in me, and you making me fall apart, and oh God, Chuck, _ you _."

"And tell me," he says, feeling her pulse desperately against his fingers. "Shall I give you your relief?"

"No!" she cries out, startling him into not moving. "No, no, Chuck, together, please."

"Donna, I don't know if I-"

"You give me pleasure," she says, propping herself up on an elbow. "Let me give it back to you."

"I- alright." It's not a hard sell, given that the dull pressure has turned acute, the need and the heat and the wet that Donna feels- he knows it all too well.

He is shamefully and painfully roused to her touch, attuned to every gasp and moan that lights his whole body with need.

"Donna," he gasps into her neck as his hips jut upward. "Donna, tell me you're close."

"I'm- oh fuck, Charles, oh, oh don't stop, don't stop don't stop-"

She's writhing, nearly mouthing the words with how desperate she is and for a second he wants to move away, wants to prolong the sweet sense of joining, wants to shelter in her always.

But more than that, he is selfish enough to want to see her fall apart.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop- oh, _ oh _."

And then she pulses against him, around him, hot and slick against his body, the magnitude of her pleasure catching both of them unawares and she has yielded to him.

He coaxes her through the last few shudders, until she starts to shake from overstimulation, and then she somehow has the presence of mind to breathe "your turn."

He shifts angles, making her gasp sharply, and he wants to apologize, wants to do _ something _to make amends, but his movements are close and frenzied and her hips rise to meet his, the consistent dull pressure fiercely sharp and fiery and needy, and he's going to-

"Donna," he groans, deep and raspy with arousal, "Donna, oh God."

And then it crashes over him too, the pressure finally overwhelming him and expanding outwards into radiant heat and pleasure, and he collapses against her, finally spent.  
It takes a few seconds before he realizes his face is wet, and Donna is shaking underneath him.

"Donna?" he asks, his voice rough. "Are you alright? Was that-"

"Charles Emerson Winchester," she says lightly, stroking a finger down his cheek. "I don't think any man has ever treated me as 'alright' as you do."

He blinks. "Was that a compliment?"

"Big lug," she says affectionately, and kisses him. "I love you though."

"I love you," he says, surprised.

"I know, I know," she teases, "you bet I say that to all the men who blow my mind."

"No, I just-"

"Charles." She places a hand on his chest. "You are the most considerate man. And you know what else?"

"What?"

She wiggles against him, and it almost pushes him to the point of overstimulation. "You feel _ very _good when you're inside me."

He blushes, but instead of trying to find the words, he kisses her again.

He can feel her heart beating, his whole body attuned to her touch, and it's so very raw and intimate. She's stroking a hand down his back, humming tunelessly to herself.

"Ought to get cleaned up," he says softly, already reaching to unbuckle the harness.

"Mm," she says lightly, stilling his hand. "I think I can help with that."

"How so?"

"You'll need to sit back," she tells him, managing to prop herself up, leaning back on her elbows.

He does, slipping out of her in the process, and the sight of himself, glistening and hard between his legs, still leaves him the slightest bit breathless at what they've done.

"Donna, what are you-"

She places a placating hand on his thigh. "I want to clean you up," she says again. "is that okay?"

"V-Very much."

And then she leans over and very gently licks his tip, her eyes closed.

"Donna," he breathes, one fist firmly clenched in the quilt, the other reaching down to cup her face. "You don't have to-"

She pulls back. “I want to, Charles.”

“But-”

"Perhaps I wanted to give my husband a little something extra." She blushes, and her eyes drop. “I- I know that most men like it, and I just thought…”

“You are marvellous,” he tells her, cupping her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over her lower lip. “Do you know that?”

She smiles, but doesn’t say another word as she leans back down.

It leaves him speechless, the sight of her gently licking him clean, her mouth hot and wet, and the sight makes him shiver with renewed arousal.

He understands, a choked-off noise escaping as she takes him into her mouth, just why most men like this. "Donna!"

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, just keeps on with a blissful expression on her face, oddly serene.

For a second he flashes with jealousy, wondering how many she's done this for. And then it no longer matters because her hands come up to caress his thighs, his hips, all the places she knows will melt him, and it doesn't matter if there have been other men, there's now only him.

"Donna," he pleads again, and she finally just presses a very gentle kiss to his tip before she lets him gather her up in shaking arms and kiss her thoroughly, and he can taste himself in her mouth, and it doesn't repulse him- it rather makes him love her more.

He nuzzles into her. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They stay that way for a few seconds, until finally Charles says, "Bubble bath?"

"Yes." And then she is lifting herself off the bed, when she gives him a shy look. "Chuck?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Do you think we could... do that again sometime?" Her eyes drop for just a second, and she’s pink all over.

"Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

She is still very much wantonly golden in the candlelight as she walks into the bathroom.

And if a good woman is prized among rubies, a great one must be prized above all.


End file.
